Brown Eyes
by janemile
Summary: Post War fic. Hermione finds herself in a society that is in shambles, and is desperate to find a place in which she feels she belongs. With the assistance of some surprising individuals she is not only able to heal herself, but the entire magical community.


She walked into the room, compassionate eyes surveying the utter desolation surrounding her. Each child sat silently, and to her that was louder then any screams, and she had heard many of those over the last year and a half. The war as over, and there was little to be done but attempt to put together a society that had been bereft of peace for far to long. These children were the forgotten ones, the truest victims of a senseless war that had left far to many people within the magical community alone. The ministry was scrambling once more to project a more moderate perspective of blood rights after the light had triumphed, at great cost. Hermione had given more to the war effort than most, her family, her childhood, her innocence all swept away due to a mad mans ambitions. It was perhaps why she surrounded herself with the children of those, both light and dark, who had fallen. Ron and Harry were celebrating; the feeling of jubilance was in nearly every corner of the battered castle, but for the dungeons. She found it distasteful to be feasting when there was still so much to be done. Perhaps it was because she was the more level headed of the group, or perhaps her time spent within Malfoy Manor had damaged her in a way she was not yet willing to reveal, but for the first time since the final capitulation of the remnants of the dark army, she felt peace. Gathering the children who had been hidden away in various safe holds to be protected form the bloodshed, she had systematically planned and prepared for each new addition she found. It would not be so easy to keep them together when policy makers stepped forward, but by moving now, Hermione hoped to be one step ahead. There was little protection in place for children who were totally orphaned, and the few orphanages, which did exist were beyond despicable. Hot beds for abuse of all kinds, she saw them as one of the reasons so many were willing to fight for a man who had been an orphan in his own right, and had learned hatred from the hands of those who were supposed to provide only care.

Twenty eight children surrounded her in the dank dungeon rooms, ages ranging from a babe just past his sixth month resting precariously on his sisters six year old hips, to a solemn boy of eleven staring at her with a studied patience, desperately waiting for news of their fate. She was the only one who had noticed their frightened eyes peering behind corners, and had sent word amongst the eldest to bring all the forgotten children for dinner in the area of the castle she had claimed as her own. Few were concerned with the quirky brains of the trio coming at odd hours and requesting the house elves to assist her endeavors to feed the many mouths. She knew her actions were temporary measures, but in the first week after the war, no one was prepared to look into the minutiae involved with the after effects. So many dead and to be mourned, celebrations to be ran, and repairs to be organized. She knew many were expecting her to be the face of the new world, already pompous wizards approached her political support, turncoats attempted to curry her favour through equal parts offers of friendship and bribes, and desperate reporters searched for an all out exclusive on the life of the brightest witch of her age. Yet, she felt nothing.

…

_The sky was black, and it seemed strangely appropriate for the war to be waged against. Sides had long since been chosen, lines drawn and reinforced time and time again. Deals had been made, and broken, and forged once more. Sometimes it felt like a group of children were fighting a war made by men long before they were born. Those fit and able over the age of sixteen were drafted to fight, and she knew once curses started flying many would leave this world tonight. Despite strategies being drawn, location carefully chosen and training being provided Hermione found all she could do was hope that it was enough. They were facing an enemy that were older, more prepared and more vicious than many had faced. Hermione had lost a piece of herself in the week she had spent as a prisoner, and during that time had managed to find the conviction to call an end. Dumbledore had truly done little when she began to consider the impact this would have on the magical community. So many Slytherins seduced away by blind prejudice on both sides. How was it fair the fate of the world rested on the shoulders of a young man, one she loved like her brother, yet one twisted with a blindness to the deeper machinations at work. Due the support of the younger forces it would seem they were superior in numbers, but nothing could make up for the manic devotion of Bellatrix, the cool superiority the Malfoys possessed, or the brilliance of Snape. Hermione knew that if they were to survive, the key players were to be taken out. All she could hope was her instincts did not lead her astray, and that one Severus Snape was just as brilliant, and deadly as she was anticipating. _

Hermione rapidly raised her wand, clearly aiming at the intruder of her slumber. She had been unable to ward the room as the castle was absorbing any magic applied to its walls in an attempt to reanimate itself. "Blimey Mione, whatcha do that for?" Harry and Ron stood clinging each other for support, clearly having imbibed the better part of a bottle of fire whiskey each, if the pungent aroma wafting from their location was any indication. The nauseous scent of alcohol, sweat and gaudy perfume penetrated her senses and she knew they had been celebrating in a much more physical way. She sighed in equal parts exasperation, fondness and disgust. They had clearly had the sense to search for her on the map, for few knew of the location she had secreted away to. She had pleaded with them earlier to delay the revelries and assist her attempts to sort through the mess of war. Whilst they clung to the members of the Weasley family, celebrating the fact that all had made it through the battle with minor but hardly life threatening diseases, Hermione had separated herself from the family with little acknowledgement of her departure. She knew they loved her, just as she knew they did not truly accept her within their familial circle. Not like Harry. It would have been cruel to separate him from their affectionate embraces when he received so few within his life. She began to gather the dead, separating both sides into different sections of the castle, yet respectful of both. Nothing was to be gained from the desecration of dead bodies. She could not handle assisting in the infirmary, it was almost worst people had managed to survive the damage inflicted upon them. The vacant eyes of those cruciated into madness haunted her thoughts, those of poor Luna Lovegood, Dennis Creevey, and Remus Lupin. They currently laid side by side with Lucius Malfoy, Dolohov and Rockwood. There was no greater equalizer than death…except perhaps madness. But it was not the presence of these particular individuals that kept her world wearied body away, it was the presence of one Severus Snape.


End file.
